


The Road Home

by SadCannibalNoises



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Murder Husbands, PWP, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadCannibalNoises/pseuds/SadCannibalNoises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal comes home to Will after a hunting expedition. Will wants to hear all about it. Cannibal dirty talk ensues. Pretty much just smut and murder fluff here, folks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's long after midnight and Hannibal is the only one on the road, but since he's driving a crime scene he forces himself to stick to the speed limit. It's difficult. He wants to get home.

The thought is a pleasant one. The difficulty and inconvenience of keeping his extracurricular activities away from the home he shares with Will Graham have turned out, somewhat unexpectedly, to be paid for many times over by the pleasure of returning to that home. It's almost enough to make him careless about covering his tracks so he can get back that much sooner. But he was careful and while he may get caught someday, this won't be the day.

He taps his fingers gently on the steering wheel in time with a song that’s forming in his mind. He’ll write it down tomorrow, maybe. There’s a little repeating motif that echoes the cry his quarry made when the knife slid between his ribs, and he quite likes it.

The road home stretches out in front of Hannibal, just his headlights and the deathsong in his head and the slight aftertaste of blood in his mouth and the promise of Will at the end of his journey.

He could stop for the night somewhere, get some rest, wash the last remnants of sweat and blood from his skin. Once upon a time, he would have. His priorities are different now.

*********

By the time Hannibal eases the front door open as quietly as he can, the sky is beginning to lighten. The sun’s not up yet but there’s a luminous quality to the air, and a bit of early birdsong. Hannibal pauses to listen for a moment. Perhaps he can work that into his composition. 

He hears a scrabble and jingle and braces himself for the part of homecoming he still hasn’t quite adjusted to yet - Beatrice flinging herself at him, fur and hot breath and joy. 

Beatrice he insists she is, even though Will has been calling her Trixie since approximately thirty seconds after her more formal name was bestowed. She answers to either. Trixie was liberated from an unfortunate home life and believes she has gone to some sort of canine heaven where she owns two humans, one who dotes on her unreservedly and one who maintains his reserve but gives her possibly the fanciest meals a dog has ever eaten. It’s entirely possible that if the FBI or anyone else ever does come for Will and Hannibal, they won’t even have to lift a finger to protect themselves - Trixie might rip the throat out of anyone who threatened her humans.

Occasionally Hannibal has been known to admit she is, perhaps, a little bit charming. But he’s worried about her waking Will if he’s asleep in the living room, where Hannibal often finds him after these trips. Will swears he just falls asleep reading. Hannibal suspects he doesn’t like waking up alone in the big bed they otherwise share, but he hasn’t been able to elicit a confession to that effect yet. He’s working on it.

He hushes Beatrice and she holds her happy bark, but continues to dance around him and to sniff avidly at the bag of supplies he places precisely near the door for later disposal. Hannibal moves quietly to the living room but Will isn’t there.

He’s about to head for the bedroom when he hears a faint snore from an unexpected direction. The kitchen?

Hannibal reverses direction and moves to the kitchen, where he finds Will asleep, face pressed into his arm, other arm flung out on the table and narrowly missing a long-since-cooled cup of coffee.

Hannibal shakes Will’s shoulder gently, prepared to jump back if he has to. Will rarely wakes up terrified and flailing anymore, but there’s no being sure, and Hannibal could do without any more accidental split lips or scratches. They’re hard to explain to his clients; your average antique bookseller doesn’t get into all that many fistfights.

Will rouses without trouble this time, voice thick and drowsy, smile that stops Hannibal’s heart. “Hey.”

“Good morning, Will.” Now that he’s pretty sure he won’t sustain injuries, Hannibal brushes Will’s hair back and drops a light kiss on his temple. “What are you doing out here?”

“I got your text. I was going to wait up. Didn’t think you’d be this late.”

“I’m sorry. I was taking back roads. The car was a bit messy, I didn’t want to be spotted.”

Will gets that expression. The “my life is very peculiar, as I sit here in my underwear in my flawlessly-appointed kitchen discussing the blood spatter in our car with my serial killer boyfriend” expression. 

Hannibal’s come to love that expression. Any moment that elicits it tends to be a moment that means his life is just about perfect. “Don’t worry, I cleaned most of it up before I came home. I’ll give it one more deep-clean once I’ve gotten a little rest.”

Will’s waking up now and he gestures vaguely toward the driveway. “You want me to--?”

Hannibal shakes his head. “It can wait. It’s still early. Come get some sleep.”

They’re both yawning as they move to the bedroom, Beatrice running back and forth down the hallway with glee. She lets out a little disappointed yip when she’s shut out of the bedroom. Hannibal’s pretty sure Will lets her in there when he’s on one of his trips, but that’s another confession he hasn’t been able to elicit yet.

Will falls into bed immediately, curled onto his side. Hannibal takes a few moments to strip off his clothes and set them aside from the rest of the laundry hamper for special treatment. He considers taking a quick bath but he’s not sure he can stay awake long enough not to drown. That, too, will have to wait.

He crawls into bed alongside Will and fits himself against the curve of his lover’s back, feeling the heat of Will’s body through his thin shirt. Will sleepily reaches back and pulls Hannibal’s arm over him and Hannibal settles closer, breathing Will in like air. This was worth the long, late drive home. 

He closes his eyes and drifts for long minutes, but doesn’t sleep. It turns out that released from the tasks of cleanup and escape, back in a safe place, he’s too wired to sleep. Exhausted, but wired. Flashes of his hunt and kill play back on the insides of his eyelids when he closes them. He considers what he might have done differently, better. He considers how it would have been had Will consented to join him on this expedition. 

He can never really predict when Will might say yes. He’s tried varying the types of people he targets, thinking at first perhaps Will would be more amenable to killing the truly criminal or evil (or what Will perceives as Evil; Hannibal has few such perceptions). He’s tried letting Will pick the targets, the methods, the locations. It’s still unpredictable. Mostly Will is content to let Hannibal do what he needs to do, while he stays home and tends to their life.

And then every once in a blue moon, Will seems to reach the end of some mysterious internal tether, and he comes to Hannibal with a certain look in his eyes, and Hannibal knows he’ll have company on his next hunt, whoever or wherever he chooses to hunt. It drives him crazy that he can’t discern the pattern. Sometimes he suspects Will of doing it at random solely for the purpose of keeping him off balance.

But when he does - oh, when he does. Hannibal would give up the rest and live only on those rare moments if Will ever asked. The moments when they take down a quarry together, those are more than enough to live on. The sheer abandon of it…

It’s not until Hannibal hears a soft, sleepy chuckle that he becomes aware his train of thought has become rather apparent. Even if Will could ignore the tightening of Hannibal’s fingers on his, he wouldn’t be able to ignore the heat and rapidly hardening press of Hannibal’s erection against his back.

“I thought we were sleeping, Hannibal.” It’s not a complaint, and Will’s already turning toward him, sleepy but willing. Perhaps he’s been missed.

“I missed you.” Hannibal lets Will come to him, moves his free hand over Will’s back and shoulders and into his hair, the other hand still pinned beneath Will. “But I truly did mean for us both to sleep.”

“You’re doing a terrible job of showing it.” Will nuzzles into the hollow of Hannibal’s neck and kisses him sweet and sleepy and gentle, a kiss that nonetheless jolts through Hannibal’s frame. “Can’t get to sleep?”

“It would seem not. I blame you.” He lets his hand trail down to Will’s ass and nudge him gently into a better position, pressing their bodies closer together. Will nudges a leg between Hannibal’s thighs, pushing them apart, and runs a hand along Hannibal’s side. 

The mood is almost broken when his fingers hit a fresh scrape and Hannibal hisses with a sharp intake of breath. Will starts to pull back to look, but Hannibal stops him, holds his hand against Will’s. “I’m fine. Nothing that needs patching right now. Just a few scrapes.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Will doesn’t always want to know about his hunts. In this, as in so many other things, Hannibal has found himself strangely content to turn the reins over and let Will make the decisions. He likes it better when Will wants to know, but he doesn't insist.

For now Will doesn’t ask, he just nods and returns to tasting the heat and salt of Hannibal’s throat and jaw, and slips his hand around to Hannibal’s stomach and then tantalizingly lower. His fingertips just barely graze Hannibal's skin, trailing the length of his cock to the tip and then closing more firmly around him back down his shaft. "I missed you too. Let me help you sleep."

The part of Hannibal that is revved up from the kill and the all night drive and a week of lonely nights without Will wants more than just this. ("Just this", as if he hadn't spent years dreaming about the remote possibilities of ever claiming so much as a kiss from Will, as if this sweet drowsy affection and the warmth of Will's hand on his skin weren't more than he'd dared to hope for until so recently. How quickly we grow accustomed to our heart's desires, he thinks with the part of him that's still thinking.) 

But he really is exhausted, and he needs this, so he doesn't protest. He just sinks into the bed under Will's ministrations, Will's hand moving a little rough just the way he likes it, Will's lips moving onto his now. There's a faint taste of coffee, Will's scratchy stubble on his skin, warmth and pressure of their lips parting and exploring each other, a now-familiar territory that still never fails to delight.

He thrusts his hips against Will's hand, in time with his rhythm, and he's rewarded with a bit of additional pressure and speed. He's rarely bothered to keep a single partner for long and so he's never really known the familiar pleasures of someone who knows his body and his signals this well. Or maybe this is just how Will's particular gift works, his rare empathic talents bent as easily to understanding this human drive as to the others he used to study in a more official capacity.

Whatever it is, Will's hand is doing something unspeakable to him and Hannibal lets his thighs fall apart further, straining against Will's hand and lips, his free hand flexing and reaching for nothing. His body feels electric, his skin humming, the present's carnal sensations mingling with the memories of his fresh kill. He feels as if there should be electric sparks flying off his skin everywhere it touches Will.

"Will--"

He doesn't know what he means to say, or plead for, so it's just as well he's cut off with a kiss, fierce and fast. "Shhh. It's okay. Just let go, Hannibal. Whatever happened out there, let it go. You're with me now. You're home." He's close, so close, panting a little and not caring about the indignity, eyes fixed on Will's face, which is turned slightly away from him, Will watching his own hand moving fast and firm on Hannibal's aching cock. Will's eyes are wide and dark with his own longing as he adds, a statement and not a question, "You're _mine_."

That does Hannibal in, as it was probably meant to, and his orgasm hits him fast and hard, spilling into Will's hand and onto his shirt. He's left trembling, the release and the temporarily-forgotten exhaustion from his all-night drive hitting him together, a one-two punch that leaves him unable to move a muscle other than to sigh deeply and contentedly.

Will tugs the stained shirt off and uses it to clean them both up a bit, before lying back down against Hannibal. He nestles in close, his own breath beginning to slow down along with Hannibal's, and drops a kiss on Hannibal's shoulder.

Hannibal makes a vague gesture as if he's thinking of returning the favor but he can barely move. Will laughs and snuggles in closer. "I don't think you could manage anything else right now even if I were expecting you to," he murmurs, and if Hannibal could form words he'd concede that. "Go to sleep. For real this time. Later you can tell me all about your trip and show me how much you missed me."

Any other time that invitation would send a fresh shock of delight, lust, and sheer wonder at the circumstances of his new life through Hannibal, but he's just about gone already.

He falls asleep almost instantly, fingers interlaced with Will's, and his dreams are bloody and shameless.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal wakes sometime in the afternoon, disoriented by the sun coming through the windows at a different angle, fragments of half-remembered dream clinging to him as he blinks sleep from his eyes.

He rolls over to find Will sitting upright against the headboard, tapping at a tablet propped against one bent knee, a bowl held absentmindedly in his other hand. It’s the smell from the bowl that woke him up; it’s some of the food he’d left in the refrigerator before he left town.

If Will were eating properly in his absence he’d be out of leftovers today; Hannibal’s instantly worried he doesn’t take care of himself. Will’s eating in bed; Hannibal’s annoyed. Will’s still only wearing his briefs and now his glasses; Hannibal’s distracted and enchanted. It’s hard to keep any one train of thought going, waking up to this particular sight.

He settles for pushing himself up into a sitting position as well, and raising an eyebrow at the bowl in Will’s hand. “You lose all your manners when I leave you alone for a few days.”

Will doesn’t seem particularly sorry. He leaves off tapping at his screen long enough to take another big bite of his lunch. “Mmmmm.” It’s an exaggerated sigh of happy enjoyment just to annoy Hannibal, but it falls short of the mark since Hannibal just likes seeing Will enjoy something Hannibal made for him. Will chews and swallows before resting the bowl on his nightstand. “I’ve told you a million times, if an animal is badly behaved it’s not the animal’s fault, it’s his trainer not doing his job right.”

“Am I neglecting your care?”

“I’m just saying, if you didn’t leave me alone, I wouldn’t have a chance to get mannerless. Maybe you shouldn’t leave.”

“Maybe you should come with me next time.” Hannibal’s careful to make it a gentle statement and not a pointed one, and to punctuate it with a light stroke of the nape of Will’s neck. He’s not trying to start a fight.

Will leans back into the touch and closes his eyes, with a genuine hum of enjoyment this time. “Mmm. We’ll see. Maybe I will. Hate to leave Trixie, though.”

“We’ll board her somewhere so luxurious she won’t even miss us. Or you can train her to stand watch and we’ll take her with us.”

“She’s all bark. If she ever ran into any real trouble she’d run and hide. She’d make a terrible watchdog.” Will leans more insistently back against Hannibal’s hand, and he can take a hint. He starts to rub at the tight muscles of Will’s neck and shoulders in circles light at first, then digging in harder as he locates the spots that need work.

“I think Beatrice has hidden depths. She might surprise you one of these days.”

Will snickers at that. “You think everyone has hidden depths. You’d try to turn a goldfish into a killer if I brought one home. We’re not bringing Trixie with us.”

Which is close enough to a promise to seriously consider coming along next time that Hannibal has no desire to push the conversation any further. Or to point out that he’s almost always been right when he spots potential, including Will’s. He lets the conversation sit quietly for a few minutes, while he works on Will’s tense muscles. Will sets the tablet aside and turns further to the side to give Hannibal better access to his whole back. He hangs his head low, going boneless under the pressure of Hannibal’s thumbs.

Hannibal works up and down Will’s back and shoulders for a while, seeking and destroying spots of tension, eliciting sighs and the occasional pained groan when he digs into a particularly tender spot. 

As he often is, he’s pleased by the symmetry of his ability to heal and ease with the same hands he uses to hurt and kill. The balance confirms his sense of the universe as a place of justice, where things taken can be given back, places emptied can be refilled, the broken mended and the mended broken again in new and interesting ways. If it doesn’t always work out that way, still he persists in believing that there are ways to nudge the balance back into existence.

With Will, he finds that after so many years of separation, hurt, and the terrible games they’ve played with each other, his urge to please and caretake and comfort runs strong. He wonders if someday there’ll be a balance reached there too, and he’ll return to finding Will’s distress as arousing as his pleasure. It wouldn’t surprise him if that turns out to be the case eventually. But they’ll negotiate that when they come to it; right now he only wants to ease.

Which reminds him that there’s a promise unkept from the night before. He’s kept his hands strictly to their task, but now he lets them stray just slightly out of bounds, to Will’s sides and down to the waistband of his briefs, slipping under the edge for just a moment before beginning to work back up Will’s spine. Hannibal drops a featherlight promise of a kiss on the back of Will’s neck and enjoys the small shudder that runs through Will in response.

Will leans back against his chest so he can turn his head and meet Hannibal’s lips, but he keeps the kiss short and then he’s upright again. “Not yet, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s not bothered; he caught the “yet”. Will has something else in mind. He takes a deep steadying breath and continues his work on Will, branching out a bit to work down his upper arms, but otherwise keeping his hands back in bounds. “What, then?”

“Tell me a story.”

Hannibal’s hands stutter for just a moment. Will doesn’t always want to hear about his activities, so he doesn’t get his hopes up. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Will’s head barely bobs with his nod, but Hannibal’s hands are nearly circling his throat as they work on the muscles of his neck, and he can feel Will swallow, hard. “Tell me. Was it the banker?”

They’d both conceived an instant dislike of the banker when they’d made his unpleasant acquaintance on a recent trip to California to investigate the wineries and the hunting prospects. He’d been rude to Will, apparently intolerant of men sharing affection, and he’d had terrible taste in wine to boot. His time will come. But it isn’t up yet. “I’m saving the next California trip for a rainy day when the wine cellar runs low. Maybe in the spring. This one was in Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?” For some reason this seems to strike Will as ludicrous, as if there aren’t plenty of people in Wisconsin perfectly suited to end up on Hannibal’s list. His laugh is bright, almost a giggle, and it’s unbelievably endearing given the subject matter. It took so long to get them to this point and Hannibal’s briefly overcome with a surge of emotions he can’t fully organize or quantify, but which seem in aggregate to add up to a sense of gratitude that this pocket of time exists.

“Yes. There are rude people in Wisconsin, despite the stereotypes.” Hannibal allows himself one kiss on Will’s bare shoulder blade and then goes on. “I don’t think we’ve talked about this one. I found him online. It’s amazing what people will admit to on the internet. He does - did - very unpleasant things. They’d ruin your breakfast if I told you.”

“It’s lunch. And I don’t need the details. He could have just been bragging.”

“He wasn’t. That’s why I needed the week. I followed him for a few days to be sure.” Hannibal leans in just a little, re-angles his hand slightly so he’s trailing a thumbnail down Will’s spine now. “He wasn’t very clever. It was easy to find out where he worked and then I just followed him home. The next day I sat next to him at a coffee shop. I was so close I could have touched him. Almost as close as you are to me now. He looked right at me and he didn’t know he was seeing his death.”

It’s a tiny thing, the slight hitch in Will’s breath. Such a tiny thing, but it’s everything. Hannibal smiles ferociously, safely behind Will and unseen. The hook is in. Will’s not the only fisherman in the family, Hannibal just has a much more specialized set of lures and targets.

“Eventually he led me back to where he kept the ones he took. He was between victims but he still went there to admire his trophies. It was dark and filthy.” Hannibal doesn’t even try to hide his disdain. Not for the act of keeping victims captive - he’s got no leg to stand on there - but for the lack of pride in the man’s work. It had been appalling. “I waited for him to leave and then I let myself in. Lie down.”

Will doesn’t protest; he lets Hannibal push him gently down onto his stomach, arms at his sides, face turned to one side. Hannibal delicately removes Will’s glasses and places them on the nightstand, then turns his attention to Will’s legs and thighs, harder muscle knots there from Will’s running and his long walks with Beatrice. Hannibal is careful and thorough, but unsparing as he leans his weight into the muscle knots.

“I looked around for long enough to be sure what was happening there, and then I went back to my hotel for the night.”

“That’s when you called me?”

“That’s when I called you.”

“I could tell by your voice.” Will’s own voice is a bit dazed, as if he’s being drawn into a spell Hannibal’s casting, which isn’t far from the truth. “You sounded elated. I knew you were on someone’s trail.”

“I would have told you then if you asked.”

“I wasn’t sure yet if I wanted to know.” The sentence is punctuated by a little groan as Hannibal leans his body hard into a tender spot, holding the pressure until he feels the tight muscle melt under his hands. "What then?"

"I followed him again the next day. He was hunting too. I followed him while he followed them. I was better at it." It's not a boast, just a statement of fact. He'd followed the man to a tacky nightclub and nursed a terrible beer in a dark corner while he watched his prey circling for a target of his own. He describes the bar quickly for Will, sticky floors, his heartbeat thumping louder than the music.

He'd waited until he was fairly sure the man had chosen a target, one of the flimsy pretty young things fluttering around the bar, and then he looked for an opportunity to get him alone. If necessary he'd have followed them both out to the parking lot and incapacitated the girl, but it had been easier and more courteous not to involve her, so he'd been pleased when the girl peeled away, perhaps to go find her friends before leaving the bar.

"I took the opportunity to have a few words with him. It didn't take much, just the address of his squalid little bunker. Once he knew what I knew he wanted me out of there before I could tell anyone anything. I think he thought he could get the best of me once he had me alone. He came willingly. Roll over."

Will rolls to the center of the bed on his back, trusting and open to Hannibal's hands. With him laid out like this, Hannibal can see the rise and fall of his breath is a bit unsteady; Will's getting impatient for the rest of the story.

Patience is a good virtue to learn. Hannibal begins slowly and gently to work on Will's feet and calves, now alternating the massage with light strokes of fingertips and fingernails. He takes his time. "I got him away from the club, down the street toward my car, and when we were far enough away he lunged at me. He telegraphed it; it was easy to avoid. Easy to get an arm around his throat. I choked the wind out of him and put him in the back seat."

"You took him back to his workshop."

"Of course. Shame to waste a perfectly good dungeon even if it was poorly maintained." Hannibal shifts his weight on the bed closer so he can start to work up Will's thighs, and it's not lost on him that the muscles there tense rather than loosen under his hands. It's not lost on him that Will's starting to strain at the fabric of his briefs. He could do something about that. He doesn't. He'll wait until invited.

He takes a deep breath and goes on with his story and his seduction.


	3. Chapter 3

"He woke up as I was pulling him back out of the car and put up a bit of a fight. Hence the mess in the car. But I got him out and down the steps. Had to dislocate his arm a bit, but he went along once he knew I had a knife."

Hannibal observes the faint tremor through Will. Will's come to like knives, although he'll hardly ever admit it. Something personal about them, compared to a gun. Something intimate. Hannibal isn't one for a gun anyway but now part of the fun of knives is knowing he'll get to tell Will about it later if he's lucky.

"I bound him to a chair with some of his own rope. Thoughtful of him to provide the ingredients for his own demise. I wish they were all so considerate. I could travel much lighter. We talked for a little while. Well, I talked. He was mostly begging. It was very undignified."

He shifts again, moving up to straddle Will's thighs so he can work on his chest, the tension he carries there. The position rubs his cock against Will's, separated only by the fabric of Will's briefs, and Will's soft responsive moan is gratifying. He could have Will right now if he wanted to. And he does. But he'll finish the story, see how far he can take Will with words before he finishes him off.

"He was a terrible conversationalist so in the end I just got to work. I slipped the knife in here." He digs a thumbnail into just the spot, between two of Will's ribs, slicing it sideways like the knife, and watches Will's lips part in response. "Most of the fight went out of him then. He knew the rest was just details."

"What did you do with him?" Will's voice is a little hoarse and husky, his eyes fixed on a vague spot in the distance as if he's visualizing the scene.

"I would have liked to take my time. He took his time with his victims. It would have been appropriate. But I did make it a very long half hour." Hannibal's all but given up on the actual massage at this point, he's just running hands over Will, stroking in the spots he knows to be sensitive. Will's hands come up to rest on his hips, adjusting their bodies slightly to fit even closer together. "He had a few empty jars left that he must have meant for his own trophies. I thought they'd be fitting for him too. I kept him alive as long as I could to see himself carved up for parts. It was messy. If you'd been there we could have kept him going longer."

"Did you bring anything back?"

"I actually remember my manners when we're apart, unlike you," he responds mock-severely to cover how much the question delights him. "I know I'm not allowed. And there were no facilities to prepare anything on the spot had I wished a solo meal." He leans forward and kisses Will gently, just a brush of the lips, before going on. "But I tasted his blood. It was sharp with fear. Bitter. I could taste it all the way home to you. Can you?"

He goes in for a real kiss then, insistent and heated, and Will presses into him, lips and tongue questing in Hannibal's mouth for any savor of copper. There's no real chance at this point there'd be anything left to taste, but it arouses them both to pretend there might be. Will’s hands move up Hannibal’s body into his hair and pull him down, closer and tighter, and for a long time there’s no other movement in the bed except their mouths and the barely perceptible rocking of Will’s hips against Hannibal, slow and easy, taking his time, taking his pleasure.

Desire has been coiling in Hannibal’s belly for long minutes but now it stirs and suffuses him, every molecule in his body calling out for every molecule in Will’s. He thinks again, briefly, that it’s a shame he can’t both consume Will and have him to live with and love. There’s no universal balance in that, no way to live both lives. The thought passes quickly; his choice was thoroughly made long ago and even if he could experience regret, he doesn’t think he’d regret it. How could he regret the warm and willing body under his, the surprising and marvelous jewel of a mind in it? 

Will sighs inaudibly, the sound lost in Hannibal’s mouth. He swallows it and has that much of Will inside him at least, breath fevered with longing for him.

Will’s hand moves from Hannibal’s hair, finally, and seeks Hannibal’s own hand. They twine fingers briefly and then Will’s guiding Hannibal’s hand down between them, into Will’s shorts (which are becoming more of an aggravation to them both by the moment), and together they take hold of Will’s erection and begin to move, Will’s fingers still wrapped over Hannibal’s, guiding him in a rhythm and then just resting there lightly, letting Hannibal do the work but staying in contact.

That’s all the invitation Hannibal needs to tell him storytime is definitely over and the “show me how much you missed me” portion of the proceedings is underway. He gladly continues the pace Will's set, moving his kisses across Will's cheek and pressing lips to his throat to feel the pulse there, before moving up to gently take Will's earlobe between his teeth. He releases the love bite only to say, "Stop me now if you want to keep those on."

Will turns his head to meet Hannibal's eyes, makes eye contact squarely, and pointedly does not do a thing to stop him except grin the tiniest, wickedest little grin. He lifts his hips and lets Hannibal rise to his knees and do the work of stripping Will of his briefs, which is hardly an unpleasant chore.

Hannibal finds himself in a position to replace his hand on Will's cock with his mouth and does so gladly, teasing him gently at first with little kisses and licks up and down the shaft, but not taking Will full into his mouth just yet. He waits for that until Will's hips lift up again, a tacit admission that he wants more, and then Hannibal falls on him wild and wanting, sucking him in deep, wet and filthy. He sucks as hard as he's been dreaming of doing all the week of his absence, savoring the taste and scent of Will anew, always just a little different. Will smells nothing like pine trees but somehow the scent of him nonetheless always makes Hannibal think of the woods, somewhere dark and deep and quiet, full of mysteries and beauty and things that bite if you get too close. 

He slides a hand up Will's chest to his mouth and feels his own cock quiver as Will takes his finger and sucks it deep and wet, knowing what he has in mind, spreading his thighs wider apart. Hannibal brings the wet finger back down and presses it gently against Will and then more insistently, sliding deep as he can reach into the hot surrounding warmth of Will's body. He moans, a sound muffled by Will still hard in his mouth, enveloped by and enveloping Hannibal, writhing with the flood of sensation.

It’s almost painful to leave off what he’s doing, but reluctantly he pulls away, eliciting a protest from Will, to reach over to the drawer in his nightstand. He’s confused to find it empty until Will coughs a soft “ahem”, and produces the small bottle of lubricant from his own side of the bed. He looks only mildly embarrassed as he notes, voice still husky, his other hand not leaving Hannibal’s skin, “You’re not the only one who gets lonely when you go away.”

And _there’s_ a mental image to store away, Will pleasuring himself in the big bed all alone while Hannibal is away. He’ll have to ponder that later. For now he just takes the bottle, planting a kiss on Will’s hand as he does, and then raises it toward Will with a quirk of the eyebrows. _Which way do you feel like doing this today…?_

Will settles further down into the mattress in a way that makes it clear he’s quite happy where he is, draws his knees up, spreads himself wide for Hannibal’s delectation. Which works just fine for Hannibal at the moment. He slicks two fingers and moves over Will, kissing him breathless, sliding his tongue into Will’s mouth at the same time the first finger slides in, fucking him with tongue and hands simultaneously, doing his very best to drive out any single thought Will’s busy mind might be coming up with that has anything to do with anything but this moment.

Hannibal works Will over for as long as he can stand to wait, stroking every sensitive place he can find inside his lover’s body, kissing every place he knows on the outside. He’s had a week to think about this and if he can’t do everything he was thinking about in one afternoon, he can certainly try. 

Eventually he meets Will’s eyes to find them slightly glazed, heated and desperate, and he knows Will is as ready as he’s been for some time. He checks just to be sure: “Okay?”

“Mm. Better than okay. Come here.”

And Hannibal does, moving up Will’s body for a long, slow kiss, gentler than the ones he’d been leaving all over Will’s torso, before he shifts himself into position, Will’s legs wrapping around him as he does so. 

Will shuts his eyes as Hannibal enters him, so slowly it’s a little torturous for both of them, but Hannibal’s not offended. He knows by now that the rush of sensation can be too much for Will in this moment. Watching Will’s unguarded face in this moment provides its own pleasure, the little movements of his mouth, eyeballs flickering behind closed eyelids as control of Will’s features slips away from him.

Hannibal sinks deep into Will’s warmth and heat, as deep as he can, and then hitches Will’s leg into a better position so he can go just a little deeper than that. They both breathe in and Hannibal holds still for a moment, so they can adjust. So they don’t both come right then and there, from the sheer power of their joining. It still takes him like this every time, wonder that Will not just allows but encourages this, delight that he can bring his beloved this pleasure, abandonment to his own sensual needs. Fucking Will and being fucked by Will are the closest thing to a prayer that Hannibal has ever come. A sweet, filthy prayer.

He lets out the breath he’s holding and begins to move, hips rolling like a dance, flames licking his skin everywhere it touches Will’s. The urge to drop his head back and abandon himself entirely to his own pleasure is strong but then he’d miss Will’s, and that’s unthinkable. So he steadies himself instead with a hand on Will’s thigh and watches Will, speeding up and slowing down and driving deeper or faster in concert with Will’s responses and directions. When Will’s words trail off to incoherent cries, he finally reaches out to reclaim Will’s cock in his hand, still slippery with lubricant, and he strokes Will in time with his own thrusts until Will shudders and unspools beneath him, hips stuttering out of rhythm, cock pulsing, shooting into Hannibal’s hand and spilling onto his own stomach.

It’s that image, Will’s come pearly across Hannibal’s scar on his stomach, that pushes Hannibal toward his own end. He could hold out a little longer but he doesn’t want to, he wants to join Will in the boneless bliss that he can already see his lover falling into, so he drives in deep one, two, three times, Will oversensitive now and moaning at the stimulation, and then Hannibal comes as well. He falls forward, his hands on either side of Will, pushing deeper still into him as he uses Will’s body to ride out his own orgasm. Will lets him, holds him, murmurs something indistinct but affectionate, and they hold that position for a long moment.

Hannibal could stay that way forever but Will’s legs will cramp up soon in that position and he won’t allow anything that would take Will out of their bed, so regretfully he eases out of Will and lowers himself to the bed, on his back, staring at the ceiling but not really seeing it, all nerve endings and racing heart and satisfaction.

Will eventually gets himself together enough to roll over into Hannibal’s embrace, draping one leg over both of Hannibal’s, an arm over his waist. He listens to Hannibal’s pulse slowing for a while and then says smugly, “Okay. I’m convinced. You missed me.”

Hannibal rests his chin in Will’s hair and smiles. “How could you tell?”

“You didn’t kick me out of bed for eating lunch. Also the mindblowing sex. The combination’s pretty revealing.” Hannibal’s quiet for a moment and Will props himself up on an elbow, peering accusingly at Hannibal, then poking him in the ribs none too gently. “You just started thinking about lunch, didn’t you? You’re hungry at this romantic moment?”

Hannibal considers denying it but Will knows him much too well. “In my defense, I haven’t eaten since dinner last night, and in the interim I killed a man, hid his body, drove all night, and I just used every bit of my energy proving my love and devotion to you. I’m going to need some fuel soon if you want me to ever be able to do that again.”

“And if I want you here instead?”

Hannibal pulls Will down to him again and strokes his hair “Then I’ll stay here with you. I will wither and die of starvation in this bed if that’s what you need from me. But I beg you to consider who’s going to cook for you and Trixie once I’ve perished.”

“Trixie?”

“Beatrice.”

“You called her Trixie. I heard that.”

There’s a soft yip outside the door. Trixie’s heard her name. God knows what else she’s been listening to pressed up against that door. They are a terrible influence on their dog, Hannibal thinks with amusement.

“That settles it. She’s hungry too. You’re going to have to let me go fix something for all of us in a few minutes.”

Will sighs, resigned, but tangles his fingers in Hannibal’s chest hair to hold him there in the bed. “Okay. In a few minutes. Stay with me for a little while first.”

“As long as you want.” Hannibal places a hand over Will’s on his chest. They drift for a while, talking about nothing in particular, and Hannibal doesn’t think he’ll be feeling that urge to go hunting again anytime soon. It’s too good to be home.


End file.
